Filth & Domesticity
by Annaleise Marie
Summary: Sam and Dean indulge in some dirty domestic role play. [PWP] [kink; role play, husband/wife, feminization, spanking, dirty talk, cross-dressing, lingerie/panty] [prompt fill]


**Filth and Domesticity  
**Annaleise Marie  
_cross-posted from livejournal  
__username: girlgotagun_

**Pairing(s)**: Dean/Sam

**Full List of Kinks**: role play, husband/wife, feminization, spanking, dirty talk, cross-dressing, lingerie/panty

This story was originally written as a fill for a prompt on the spnkink-meme livejournal community. FFn doesn't allow links in documents, but if you want to see the original prompt you can check out my LJ, which is linked on my profile.

**Part One**

X

Sam and Dean had never really had a _real_ home. Sure, Dean could remember things about their lives before hunting—before Sam, even—but it was really only snippets, glimpses of the larger reality before their world went sideways and they were tossed headfirst into a life of horror, scraping for survival in a never-ending shitstorm of things that wanted to kill them, eat them, or otherwise fuck up their day. Sam, for his part, couldn't remember _ever_ having it. He had been too little, only a baby when the fire started and John picked up the hunt.

Even now, twenty-nine years later, they still didn't really have that. Dean thought that the bunker had potential as a new home, but then he had embraced the mentality of "home is where you lay your head" a long time ago. Sam, however, was resisting that possibility with everything in him, raging against it as though the bunker had personally insulted him by suggesting that it could serve as a home for the two of them.

And Dean understood it, he did. He wasn't nearly as emotionally inept as his little brother seemed to think. Sam had tried to build a life, a home with Jess, only to have it cruelly taken from him by their past, their history, their hunting life. He tried again with Amelia and…okay, there was a _lot_ more that went wrong with that relationship, but it was still the past rearing its ugly head to tear it all down.

So building a home somewhere loaded with their history, with dark and gruesome secrets and memories crammed into every corner? Yeah, Dean got how that would be hard idea for his little brother to swallow.

But hell, Dean was tired. Tired of constantly moving around, tired of constantly fighting _something_, saving _someone_, bearing the needs of all of damned humanity on his shoulders as the world constantly tried to throw itself off of a cliff like a lemming colony. He didn't know how to give it up—it hadn't really gone well the one time he had attempted it, either—and even if he did, something would always suck him back in; he knew that. But he wanted something _with_ it, a break in his day-to-day misery, a peaceful place that was _his_ where he could ignore the bad things for a few hours, where he could look forward to returning to when he was on the road. He wanted that so bad he could taste it, for him _and_ Sam.

But Sam just didn't seem to have any faith in it anymore, which broke Dean's heart, but yeah he got it. It was a fair conclusion for the kid to come to.

Which was what made what he was looking at now so damned amazing.

"Wow." He spoke the only word he could bring to mind on an exhale.

Sam was wearing a dress. And not just any dress, but one reminiscent of the ones that June Cleaver wore, black with a high waistline, flaring out into circle skirt with just a teasing edge of crinoline peeking out from under the hem. His legs looked smooth, and as Dean looked closer he realized that his brother had shaved them before slipping on nude panty hose and a pair for black heels. Over the dress his brother wore a pink apron, and in his hand he held a rocks glass with a generous serving of whiskey. A martini would've completed the picture of twisted domestic Americana better, but hey, Dean wasn't much of a vermouth guy, so he wasn't going to complain.

His brother's lips spread in a wide smile as he walked towards him. "Honey, you're home!" His voice was a low purr, completing the strangely appealing dichotomy of masculinity and femininity, and Dean realized that he was already achingly hard, leaking beads of precum on his boxers.

"Sammy…" He didn't know what to say as he took the offered whiskey, his eyes grazing again over his brother before coming back up—further up than normal, even, thanks to the heels—to meet his gaze. He hadn't expected _this_ to be waiting on him when he returned to the bunker, and honestly he was at a loss for words.

Sam turned on his heel and walked away, Dean almost groaning at the fact that the object of his desire was moving away from him, but then his little brother called back, "Dinner's almost ready."

Fuck. Sam had made him dinner? Dean chuckled at the thought as he started to follow his brother toward the kitchen. "You make such a good wife, baby. Don't know what I ever did to get so lucky."

Sam turned to him again once they entered the kitchen, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. "Dean… I don't know if I can see this place as home, the way you do. So I wanted to give you this, that way if it doesn't last…"

Dean cut off his little brother's explanation with a soft kiss, nearly laughing as he had to stand on tiptoe because of those fucking sexy heels. When he pulled away he rested his head against Sam's shoulder, exhaling shakily. "We'll uh… Let's not talk about that right now, Sam. Let's just enjoy this."

"Okay, Dean." Sam's voice was quiet as his hand guided Dean's face up to kiss him lightly again, and then he was off, moving around the kitchen, those heels clicking against the tile floor.

Dean's dick gave a slight throb with every _clack_. He wanted to fuck his pretty little wife, feel those smooth legs wrapped around him, heels digging into his ass, pushing him in further, harder with each thrust, holding him deep inside as he came…

He took a sip of his whiskey. Later. He'd do that later. Right now, he was going to enjoy everything Sammy was offering him, including what smelled like a fantastic dinner.

Sam had made pot roast with potatoes and carrots, along with a salad. Dean wrinkled his nose at the rabbit food, earning himself a disapproving _tut_ from Sam.

"What?" Dean sat down at the table, leaning back in his chair with his hand behind his head so that he could easily watch his 'wife'. "A man doesn't need that sissy food. Takes more substance to keep a husband strong for his little lady."

Sam laughed. "Well, I care about your health, _as your wife_." The last words were a suggestive purr and Dean raised his eyebrows, very interested in the suggestion. "You need something more than simple fat and starches."

"Protein. There's protein in meat." While Dean had hoped that their dinner conversation would be a little…naughtier, there was something nice about the innocent food debate that felt like home and warmed him deeply.

"And your body can't do much with it without other macros, so stop being a grump and eat your salad." Sam kept his voice chipper as he set the bowl down in front of him.

"Yes, dear," Dean grumbled, but it was good-natured as he picked up the fork and obediently ate. It wasn't bad. Sam had added some sort of sweet vinaigrette. Still, he made a face when he caught his 'wife' looking, to keep up his manly meat-and-potatoes rep.

Sam brought over the rest of the meal and sat down in the seat opposite Dean. Which Dean honestly found a little disappointing. He had wanted to eat with one hand as he ran the other up up his 'wife's leg, skimming along the thin nylon, teasing the shaved-bare skin underneath before slipping his fingers under the hem of the dress…

The hunter nearly choked when he felt a bare foot traveling up his leg and over his knee to rub gently against his inner thigh, inching closer and closer to his dick. His erection had calmed a little bit with the innocent banter earlier—though not completely, because it wasn't like Sam had suddenly stopped wearing those clothes or anything—but it was now returning full-force, pressing against the front of his jeans as though trying to meet Sam's foot halfway.

He eyed his brother with a mixture of playfulness and dark promise. "Now Sammy… Is that any way for a lady to behave at the table?"

Sam gave him a look that was all innocence and bewilderment, like he couldn't imagine what Dean was talking about as he speared a carrot and brought it slowly to his mouth. Meanwhile, below the table, his foot had moved higher to press lightly against Dean's dick, gently rubbing over the hard length.

Dean clenched his teeth, trying to stay calm; the picture of the poised, respectable husband. What he said next, however, was not so poised and respectable, and he could see the effect it had on Sam as his 'wife' flushed, his eyes darkening. "If you don't behave at the dinner table, my darling wife, I'm going to have to bend you over it, lift that pretty skirt, and give you a good spanking."

Sam just smirked at him and continued eating as though nothing was happening, all the time rubbing Dean off below the table.

Dean took one last bite of his dinner, in case what he was about to do rendered the food inedible, and then stood up calmly, Sam's foot falling from his lap as he did so. He walked around the table, his pace slow and measured, the perfect picture of control. He took in the tell-tale flush spreading across his 'wife's chest, a sure sign that he was just as aroused as Dean. He came to a stop behind Sam's chair and leaned forward, bracing his hands on the edge of the table on either side of his 'wife', his lips close to his ear.

"Stand up." His voice was low, a commanding rumble from deep in his chest, and he heard Sam's sharp intake of breath in reaction. "Move your plate out of the way, and then bend your pretty ass over the table."

Sam did as he was told, Dean moving the chair out from behind him to stand closer to his 'wife' as he bent over, resting his hands shakily against the surface of the table. He leaned over Sam again, careful to keep his dick from rubbing against his brother's ass, unwilling to risk losing control before he could play this out. His fingers traced lightly over the hem of the dress and the stiffer crinoline underneath, tugging lightly to tease his 'wife'.

"This turning you on, baby?" he asked. He paused before the next words; he and Sam had never incorporated this sort of thing into their sex life, but hell, it seemed fitting of the situation. "Does the idea of me spanking you, being spread out like this on our kitchen table have you soaking your panties?"

Sam let out a breathy laugh. "You have no idea."

Dean, his curiosity piqued, finally lifted the skirt of the dress, exposing what was underneath, and let out a low curse as he closed his eyes, desperately reeling in his control as it tried to slip away. Sam was wearing a pretty red lace thong, the back strap resting lightly over his entrance, a black garter belt, and fucking thigh-high stockings. Dean's mouth watered as he reached out, hooking his fingers into the strap of the thong and pulling to expose the pretty pink pucker. After a second he caught himself though and let it slide back into place, hiding the tight, warm ring as he refocused on what he had planned.

"Such a bad girl," he purred, running his open palm over one of the firm cheeks, watching as goosebumps formed in response to the touch. "Can't even behave through a simple dinner; too needy for my dick in your tight, hot pussy."

Sam whimpered, pushing back into Dean's touch as the words sent a thrill rushing through him to coil tightly somewhere in his lower abdomen. Dean withdrew his hand, smirking as his 'wife' thrust back, trying to find his touch.

"I'll give you what you need, baby," he promised. "But first I have to punish you for misbehaving."

"Yes, please; want you to spank me, teach me how your wife is supposed to behave."

Sam's words made Dean's dick throb painfully and the older man had to resist the urge to call it a day and just fuck him then and there. Instead he ran both hands over Sam's firm ass, squeezing, teasing him, before suddenly pulling back one hand and bringing it sharply down again, a low growl escaping him as he saw the smooth skin quickly pinken and heard his little brother gasp, his back arching slightly against the blow. There hadn't been much force behind it, since it was the first one, and Sam shivered as another small jolt of pleasure coursed through him.

"How many do you think you deserve, baby?" Dean asked, stroking the sensitive flesh under his hand. "How many times should I spank your pretty ass for disrespecting your husband?" Sam didn't answer and Dean let another blow, slightly harder this time, come down. "Answer me."

"F-Five," Sam gasped out, and Dean wasn't surprised that he low-balled it. His brother enjoyed it, sure, but "punishments" like this always made him impatient.

The older brother chuckled and leaned down to mutter in his 'wife's ear. "Let's make it ten, then." He stood back up and dropped his hands from his little brother's ass, watching for a minute as the cheeks clenched around the band of the thong. "Count 'em out, baby."

Without warning the first blow landed, this one harder than the others. Sam jerked in surprise, both at the sharp sting and the thick pleasure that followed it as Dean's hand ran over the abused flesh, soothing it momentarily.

"_One._"

_Slap_. This one landed on the other cheek and Sam gasped in relief that it wasn't the same spot again.

"_Two._"

Dean took a little longer this time, enjoying the feel of the blood-heated flesh under his hand. Sam squirmed impatiently, earning himself a short, sharp slap in the same spot.

"_Ahhh…three._"

The next two landed in quick succession, one on each side, and Sam choked out the numbers, trying to keep up through his surprise. "_Four… Five…_ Fuck, Dean…please…"

His 'husband' leaned down again, placing a gentle kiss along his spine, between his shoulders, his hands soothing the abused flesh. "Shh…doing so good, baby. Such a perfect wife…"

Sam took a steadying breath and nodded, trying to relax his muscles in preparation for the next blow. When it landed he arched his back, screaming out again. "_Six!_"

_Slap!_

"Seven!"

_Slap!_

"Oh god… Eight!" Tears were beginning to burn at the edge of his eyes.

Dean took pity on his 'wife', and the next two blows were softer, the last one landing right at the center, over the thin band that covered that hot, tight pussy. Sam arched up off the table, his arms shaking, hips thrusting forward slightly at the surprise of the sensation, the last two numbers ripping from this throat on ragged gasps.

Dean admired his handiwork, the skin painted bright red from blood brought to the surface, superheated under his palm. He shushed Sammy, placing a kiss to the small of his brother's back before praising him. "Did so good, baby. So perfect…learned your lesson so good for your husband."

Sam sighed, relaxing into the touch and the gentle caress of Dean's voice. After a moment he felt his one of his brother's fingers hook through the strap of the thong again, pulling it to the side to rub his thumb over his entrance. Sam felt the ring of muscles quiver slightly, a pale mimicry of the fluttering the muscles inside were doing at the thought of Dean pushing into him, fucking him hard over the table. He knew his brother; knew about his thing for panties, knew that Dean was going to just move the strap of the thong to the side and leave all of the lingerie on as he fucked him, and his dick twitched in anticipation as he imagined that.

Dean brought his hand around to Sam's mouth, offering him two of his fingers, his eyes falling closed and breath hitching as Sam took them into his mouth, swirling his tongue around them. "That's right baby; slick 'em up good so I can slide 'em into that nice, sweet pussy."

Sam moaned around his fingers, sucking them as though they were Dean's dick, getting them good and wet before Dean pulled them back. Sam jerked at the feeling of those wet digits pressing against his hole and then pushed back, urging Dean on.

"Still so fucking eager for my dick." Dean's voice was a low moan of approval as he slid one finger inside, imagining the tight muscles that clenched around it around his dick. "Such a fucking slut. _My_ pretty little slut of a wife…"

"God, Dean…" Sam hissed as Dean added the second finger, scissoring them, stretching him out to take his big brother's—his 'husband's—thick cock.

"Gonna pound your pussy raw." Dean found the spot he had been searching for with his fingers and pressed down, causing Sam to writhe on the table, choking out a curse and a plea. "Gonna fuck you so hard you don't walk right for a week. Make you come on my dick, make you feel so good you forget your own name."

"Please… Do it, Dean! Please!" Sam felt like he was about to lose his mind between the game they were playing, the pure filth spilling from his older brother's lips, and the feeling of those thick fingers inside of him. He nearly sobbed as they withdrew, robbing him of stimulation, but soon he felt the thick head of Dean's weeping cock pressed against him and he thrust back, urging his brother to push inside of him.

Dean sank into Sam's heat, groaning loudly at the feeling of his little brother's walls clamping down around him, easing his way in until he was fully sheathed inside his 'wife'. He gave Sam a minute to adjust, and as soon as he felt his brother relax he pulled back out to the head and then pushed swiftly back in, drawing a needy groan from the body beneath him.

Dean set up a punishing rhythm, leaning forward with one hand on Sam's hip, the other braced on the tabletop for balance, and muttered all manner of filthy shit into his ear as he fucked his greedy hole. And there was that dichotomy again, that pure filth and domesticity, and the sheer _fucking perfection_ of it drove him quickly towards the edge. He moved his hand from Sam's hip to circle around him and stroke his little brother's cock in time with his thrusts, trying to get his 'wife' there before he came.

He heard the shout, felt the tightening of muscles that signaled Sam's release half a second before his own ripped through him, sending his vision blurry and ripping a loud curse from his throat. He shot his seed deep inside his 'wife', his hips jerking slightly as he emptied himself in the tight channel.

When it was over they lay pressed together, still bent over the table, trying to catch their breath.

"Dean, the pie is going to burn." Sam's voice was shaky.

Dean groaned, his spent dick giving a half-hearted twitch. "You made pie, Sammy?" He chuckled. "Damn, you really are the best wife ever."

**The End.**  
_I hope you enjoyed it. :)_


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